


Blood Stained Woods

by InsaneWeasel



Series: Works Moved from Wattpad [1]
Category: Mianite - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Crucible-esque, Disease, Fantasy AU, M/M, Magic system, OG on Wattpad, Old Fic, Witch Hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneWeasel/pseuds/InsaneWeasel
Summary: [Old story from Wattpad copied here because their site is trash]When Jordan arrived, sword in one hand, book in the other, he was told he was invited to destroy the menace lurking in the woods. A stable man, with the ideals of justice and balance interwoven into the seams of clothes is thrown into a state of chaos when the mystery of just who is the destructive force attacking the town and what does he want?Fantasy Mianite AU inspired by my love of the Crucible in Sophomore year of high school.
Relationships: Tom Cassell/Jordan Maron
Series: Works Moved from Wattpad [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047259
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

_Date: 27 Moons of the 22nd Year_

_The journey in the last town dealt with a nature witch that used blood ceremonies to bind men of her taste to her as slaves. She was a formidable opponent and I gave her the option of losing her ability to spell cast--best way would be to cut out her tongue--or to lose her life. The issue was resolved peacefully and she was condemned without the ability to spell cast or defend herself on trial. I don't feel that sorry for her; she did try to make me kiss her...among other things. A new client contacted me, by the name of Jeriah; he fears a demon has been feeding on villagers. Many have disappeared: lumberjacks, farmers, and the everyday folk. He's expressed considerable concern, apparently there's been a lack of faith in their god with such events. They follow Mianite, unsurprisingly. (He being the dominate god in these regions). Jeriah informed me their priest, Declan, has heard nothing and fears they've been abandoned due to a previous heinous crime they may have committed. The problem has persisted for many years, three or four approximately. They have called many professionals, I am not the first, but of those that have come, none have left or left alive. Maybe I've been in the business to long, but this isn't the first threat on my life._

_This "demon" sounds unfamiliar. Demons go for one or all; they do not pick off villages slowly, It suggests something much more human, but I suppose the first step in any case, is research._

_Sincerely, Jordan S. Maron, Exorcist of Evil._

As Jordan signed off, the carriage hit a rock on the road. It launched the small vial of ink precariously perched on his seat into the air. It blanketed his journal, soaking the pages of past entries and the current one beyond repair. Some of the ink spilled on his gray trousers. For a dignified exorcist, he never was that great outside his field in the matter of luck. Jordan rolled the window down, letting in the earthy smell of dirt. Swiftly, he ripped the ink coated pages free and threw them out the window.

The past was the past. He knew the important dealings he had written by heart; he needn't keep the journal. Yet, dealings or not, he felt as if he had lost a part of himself in a few sparse moments of entering a new mission. What a disappointment. Free of the ink, he rolled up the window and tucked his journal into his coat pocket.

The pages didn't matter much; the man who raised him had enchanted the journal to have endless pages along being feather light. It had been a gift for his eighteenth birthday to record his adventures in so one day he could tell him the battles he'd faced and speak of the people he'd met.

The passing scenery caught his attention. Tall oaks, slender evergreens and spindly branches clawing outwards towards visitors of the village. Devoid of life, the trees didn't sway their branches, not even for the biggest of birds weaving between them; they would not flinch nor shiver at even the slightest breeze. Dead reincarnates looking for flesh to devour they were. Dull browns and grays blurred past as his eyes unfocused. The carriage jolted and he tore his eyes from the woods to the opposite row of the carriage to where his bags, his bow and his quiver of arrows rested. The bump hadn't stirred them in the slightest; that's one less mess he wouldn't have to deal with.

His gut howled; a sharp pain tore through it. A sharp red spark among the dull trees caught his attention and Jordan felt the resounding waves of cruelly used magic...mean magic. It was gone as quick as it came; too soon for Jordan to figure out what it could have been.

It could very well be the Red Man dancing like a heathen in the shroud of darkness, tempting maidens to his side.

_Bless me, Ianite._

One of the horses let out a loud neigh as the carriage slowed and approached the gate blocking the dirt road into the village. A man on guard swung down from his post, agile and quick like a monkey. Was he to get out now or would he be lucky enough to get a ride into the village? Jordan gathered his briefcase and bag. He slid the rough pack over his shoulders. With his free hand he grabbed his bow and quiver and prepared to depart. A sudden rapping at the carriage window alerted him to the guard. Sighing, Jordan threw his quiver and bow over his shoulder, the added weight making his poor shoulders ache. With his belongings balanced, Jordan rolled down the window..

"Are you the new Exorcist?" the man asked, pushing his cap up to look at Jordan.

"Yes, I am," Jordan said.

The guard snorted and tapped the side of the carriage, before signaling to the gate-keeper to open the rusted iron gates. With a wayward glance back towards Jordan, the guard said, "Good luck, you'll need it." He jogged back to his post and the carriage started forward again. Jordan grabbed the overhead handle to steady himself, gazing out the window with interest. The carriage shook as it pulled itself from the ragged roads outside the city to the well traveled dirt ones inside. The open window let in the sounds of the town as the carriage steadily rolled past.

The outside of the village hosted a small graveyard. The steady clang of metal on stone rung through the air like church bells on a Sunday afternoon as two men worked to carve names into simple tombstones. Their knees were caked in dirt and their faces were marred with some sort of black powder they were rubbing into the carvings to make the names stand out.

A woman's shout caught his attention and Jordan saw a child being yanked back by his arm, nearly having ran into the way of the carriage. The mother scolded him furiously before her dark glare drifted through the window and straight into Jordan's soul. Angry mothers were something he would never want to face. Her face was gone in a blur as the carriage moved onwards.

The small farms and lodgings grew to more buildings and people. Humble buildings some having long seen better days, leaned precariously in their places. The small buildings had been patched up, oak wood replacing what seemed to be formerly redwood. The taller buildings, built with a roguish sort of appearance much like the old cow wrangling books he had read as a child were left in disrepair. Their paint was peeling and their windows were shattered; he was sure the inside didn't look much better. One three story building lurking far from the white small ones had met a grisly fate. It's red paint had smoke damage to it, as if a fire had once raged there and the gold lining had been scraped away by some greedy soul. Men and women walking near the building skirted around it, as if loitering too close would get them dragged into the abyss the building held. As the carriage rolled on, Jordan caught a glimpse of a group of teens graffiting the side of the building with paint spells.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt and Jordan heard his driver mumble some choice words under his breath.

"Watch it! Pedestrians have the right away, pal," someone hollered back. Jordan saw a man carrying a bundle of planks on his shoulder as he and his coworker crossed the road at a leisurely pace, heading towards a building north of him that was under construction.

The more into the town he got, the better the buildings were. Crisp white paint, stone archways and silver linings to the cloud-like roofs adorned the more important buildings like the post office and courthouse. He hadn't been in a god dominated village for a while. More and more villages had become godless and consequently, in bad shape.

Though he couldn't say much for this one's shape. It rivaled the godless villages with the morbid mood it posed--maybe this village was teetering on the brink of being godless.

As they started on the road to the church, the wailing sounds of a baby crying pierced his ears. He watched the scene feeling something deep in his heart. A mother held the babe close to her bosom, her stringy blonde hair hanging over the child like a comforting sheet as she whispered lullabies to it. The feeling in his heart spread to a painful ache. The feeling was forgotten as an angry drunk lurking near a building that had been foreclosed threw curses and spat on the carriage wheels.

Not the warmest welcome, but he had seen far, far worse; he could only hope the lodgings were decent.

The carriage pulled to a stop outside a large marble church with the emblem of Mianite glittering above the roof. A gavel spun lazily with an electric storm seemingly storming around it; the sign of Justice embedded so deeply into the Mianite culture that one could see buildings thousands of years old with the same symbol. He couldn't see much of the church, but he'd marvel it's fair size for such a distant village later.

Jordan let go of the handle and let himself out, waving off the far too relieved carriage driver who left in a hurry. Forlorn faces, worn by years of stress stared at him from the shadows of the buildings. Their shoulders were hunched; straining to bare the town's loss.

His blessed-iron sword brushed against his trouser-clad leg as he walked, reassuring him he was well equipped if a fight did happen. His polished leather shoes stood out on the dusty street. The faint glimmers of sun peaking through the overcast clouds threw. shadows across his face. Jordan breathed in the smell of ozone and evergreen trees. It lacked the distinct rotting flesh and sulfuric smell demons left.

The church doors swung open and out rushed a crying mother, tears rushing down her face. Reaching a hand out, the priest pleaded for the woman to return, "Ma'am, please, we've been trying."

"Trying?" She turned on her heel, staring up at the red-haired man with disbelief. "Each blood moon it emerges and slaughters our people. Each "professional" sent in tries some mumbo jumbo hocus that makes the demon madder. Mianite has forgotten us. My daughter is dead!" The priest looked taken aback, and he lowered his hand.

"Margaret, you are not the first to lose your child," he said with faint annoyance. "If I could not save my own child; do you think I'll be able to recover yours so easily."

The woman wasn't satisfied. She turned her back on the priest despite his efforts. Huffing, she picked up her dress and rushed past Jordan. The exorcist watched her go before turning to the priest in question.

The priest ran his hand over his face and grimaced apologetically at Jordan.

"'Ello, we're in a bit of a pickle; it's made everyone stressed out," the priest said. "I'm Declan and you be the Exorcist, Mr. Maron, corect?"

Smiling, Jordan strode up the stairs and shook the priest's hand. "Please, call me Jordan."

The priest shook his head, "'Fraid I can't, Mr. Maron." Jordan's smile fell at being called that. "I don't want to get to know you; if you should die I don't want to feel any more loss than I have. Come this way," Declan ushered Jordan into the church, the doors slamming closed behind them. _A nihilistic priest, charming_ , Jordan thought to himself

The church was dimly lit, candles flickering like spirits in the night. Their steps echoed throughout the empty white pews and columns. The floor was freshly swept and Jordan dragged his shoe against it just to make a slight squeaking noise. When he glanced upwards at the windows on the ceiling and a second floor that seemed inaccessible, Jordan spotted cobwebs. Not much of the church was in use anymore. It would at least look nicer with some light.

"Most of our light is usually from the bright sun that drifts through the windows, but since the murders there's been clouds in the sky," Declan said, reading Jordan's thoughts.

"Magic?" Jordan asked and Declan shrugged.

"Not any type we know. Our three warriors work with a mix of blood magic and Thaumcraft. Speaking of our warriors, they'll be happy to assist you should you need it. They're just through this door," Declan pushed open a door hidden by a curtain and gestured for Jordan to enter. Jordan stepped in and surveyed the well lit room. On one side, the small room's wall was filled with journals and old tombs. Tables nearby had some of these books open and parchment paper filled with notes lying about. On the opposite wall were notes and studies pinned to the wall. Near these papers stood two of the warriors: a dark brown-haired dark woman with orange armor and fox-ears on her helm and an older bounty-hunter as his prestigious badge displayed. They were gesticulating as they argued in hushed whispers over a piece of paper on the wall.

"Foxx," the female turned to stare at Jordan and the priest, her hands still on her hips, "Jeriah," the bounty hunter crossed his arms and smiled at Jordan, "this is Mr. Maron, the Exorcist," introduced Declan.

"Nice to finally meet you, Jordan," Jeriah said, offering his hand for a handshake. He appraised Jordan; a small strange smile on his mouth. It vanished quickly. Jordan took his hand and shook it firmly. "I heard about the witch down in Salem Brooke; nothing like a real control-freak bitch to trigger the urge to stab someone." Part of this was shot at Foxx who crossed her arms and pointedly looked away.

"I'm Sonja Foxx, potion extraordinaire," she said, "I've been acting mostly as the town's healer since the incidents. However, I do help with the investigations. The most recent break was the note left. It's the first time anything has ever been left."

Curious, Jordan stepped past her, brown eyes scanning the notes on the wall till they narrowed on a torn note. He stepped closer to read the messy handwriting, _"Return of the Fallen."_

"Do you have an idea who wrote it?" Jordan asked, slipping the journal away.

"Yes," Jeriah said, "the last Demon-Hunter who visited a year ago. He disappeared into the woods with this message left nailed on the door of his house. We haven't determined if it was a lead and that's why he disappeared into the woods or if it was a goodbye note like Foxx thinks," he explained."The old loon was crazy; he probably died out there either by his own hand or another's."

"Goodbye note?" Jordan turned to Sonja, raising an eyebrow and she huffed.

"No one ever believes me," she said with a groan and turned to Jeriah. "You didn't see the way Mot was acting; he was a different person from before and up until the day he left he was constantly locked in that room of his."

"Screziato was a nutcase," Jeriah shouted. "He was just some paranoid lunatic who thought the whole town was against him!"

"I'm done with you," Sonja shouted back and she weaved past Jordan and Declan, "If you need me Declan, I'll be with Alyssa, because unlike all of you bastards she doesn't have her head up her ass."

"She's a seven year old girl," Jeriah yelled back.

"Yeah, well that should say something about you," the door thundered shut behind her.

Jordan stood there his mouth agape as to comment, before he decided better and adjusted the sunglasses clipped to his shirt; they'd almost slipped loose. He stared after Sonja and noted to ask her about the Demon Hunter. Jeriah padded up to stand next to Jordan and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry about that welcome, Jordan; she's been touchy. I'm not even sure why Tucker is still with her," Jeriah shook his head in disgust. "Wish we could burn her for Witchcraft; she's a Devil's whore."

"Jeriah," Declan warned, "Under this roof you will keep your mouth shut about your grudges against Sonja. She is a follower of Mianite and shows more devotion to learning his scriptures than you ever have." Jordan wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but Declan's eyes glowed an unearthly white.

Jeriah cast his head down and muttered an apology--a not too sincere sounding one--before grabbing his rapier from a table and vanishing out of the room. Declan's eyes returned to normal. He swore they had been glowing. Drawn to his eyes, Jordan saw nothing unusual besides the bags under the man's eyes and the depression lurking behind them.

"Things aren't great," Declan said again and he let out a tired yawn. "And I hope we haven't made too bad of an impression on you. I'll show you to your cabin, it's a little close to the woods, but I think you can handle it. The next blood moon is in three days. I won't expect you to have cracked the eggshell to the yolk of this mystery, but please..." Declan sounded broken. "Please help keep him from killing."

"Whatever I can do, I will" Jordan promised and Declan gave him a small smile. His eyes turned far too distant, as if remembering something dreadful.

"You shouldn't have come, you're much too young, too good," Declan whispered, but he closed his eyes in a silent prayer. "This way now, let's wrap this up before nightfall."

The weight of this mission had set in and as they walked Jordan combed through his findings so far. The thing in the woods was no demon, none of the signs were right for one. The lack of sulfur markings, the attacks on only the blood moon, the lack of bodies found--this was a human, Jordan was sure of it. A _fallen_ human, whatever that could mean. He'd need to brush up on his history of the area, there had to be a reason.

"Here's the cabin, Sonja's healer's hut is the closest, but it'll take a while to get there," Declan said.

Taking in the cabin, with an old roof, a door barely hanging on its hinges and cracked windows. He hefted his case and turned to thank Declan, but the priest had already left. Running a hand through his messy hair, Jordan spared a look at the woods and swore he saw two black eyes staring at him through the trees. His hand drifted to his sword and the eyes vanished with a flash of a black cape.

Striding forward, Jordan reached the edge of the woods and stared after where he was sure the figure was, but it was already gone, blending in among the shadows dancing in the woods.

Frowning, Jordan reluctantly pulled away from the woods and pulled open the door to the cabin.

The small cot on the inside lacked a pillow, the left leg of the desk in the corner was propped up by books and only a small candle holder existed for a light. Throwing his case down, Jordan sat on the cot with a moan of fatigue. He glanced at the door and noted it only had a bolt lock. He hung his rough pack, bow and quiver on the nails on the wall; they looked to have formerly held a painting. Sliding off his shoes and jacket, Jordan bolted the door and pulled out his journal.

_Date: Beginning of the 28th Moon, 22nd Years_

_A lackluster town struck with many grievances. The people of it seem to be in a state of chaos, but I have an idea for a starting place. The history of a place gives away the most hints to the problem. Start at the most recent events occurring before the problem and work backwards 'til I find the answer. It's as simple as that._

_Sincerely, Jordan C. Maron, Exorcist of Evil_


	2. The Forgotten God

_Date: 28 Moons on the 22nd Year._

_I had problems sleeping last night. The roof creaked and moaned, the wind whispered threats through the cracks in the walls, and the thunderstorm added to the misery in which I endured. The sooner I finish this case, the better. I'm due to visit Ianarea again soon._

_Sincerely, Jordan C. Maron, Exorcist of Evil._

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Jordan stretched, cracking his back painfully. A yawn fell from his lips and his head pounded, urging him to find a better sleeping place. Quickly, Jordan tended to his morning needs and found some gold to pay for a meal. His brain had been too busy, and Jordan had neglected to eat before he went to bed. Another cause of his night of sleeplessness, no doubt.

Shrugging on his leather jacket and slipping his shoes on he stumbled out the door. Jordan walked towards the town and sighed as the small buildings were so far into the distance. Was there perhaps a chance he could rent a horse while he was here? He wouldn't mind repairing the cabin either if someone had the supplies for a reasonable price.

He walked around the outside, his boots getting caught in the mud. The backside of the cabin looked a lot worse. If he got done from his research early he really should get supplies to fix it.

Stirred from his thought by the sound of hooves squelching in and out of the muddy terrain, Jordan glanced up to see the guard from yesterday approaching on a white horse, a brown one being led on a separate lead behind him. The ride to town must be a muddy one with the dark streaks of mud having managed to spread up the white mare's legs and onto his flank.

"Thought you might need the transportation," the man said, sliding off his horse. "Sorry for the lack of introduction, I've been out of sorts. The name's Tucker, proud defender of this town. I've fought the damned demon more times than I can count, yet he always slips past to kill someone," the man quirked his lips in amusement at something on his mind. "Anyway, I could show you the best place for food in this town."

"Thanks, my name's Jordan," Jordan mounted the horse Tucker had given him and Tucker slid back on his with ease..

"So, what made you take this case?" Tucker asked as they traveled the lone road, glancing back at Jordan. The squelch and clop of the horses walking penetrated the deathly silence the air possessed. Not a single bird call or voice accompanied them.

"I like challenges," Jordan said as Tucker steered his horse away from a nasty looking hole in the mud. He stayed ahead of Jordan, but Jordan was pretty sure he would have been able to find the way to the town without him. They passed by the hut that Declan had denoted earlier as Sonja's.

"Challenges, huh? Well, I'll bite, that sounds like a good reason," Tucker said, pivoting on his saddle to smile at Jordan. "You know I haven't lived here long. I came here with my girlfriend, Sonja, a couple years ago." Tucker broke off and laughed uneasily, his shoulders hunched. He turned his gaze back to the road as they traveled past the bigger fields full of wheat. The horses seemed to recognize this as a familiar place, because their gait became less rigid and more relaxed. Tucker, on the other hand, tensed. "Our God called us, ya know. If you want to move up, you answer whatever he wants, right? What was the harm of a small trip? We felt it was the right decision, but I'm not so sure anymore."

Jordan hadn't had the same issues when he chose to leave his town to follow the calling of his Goddess. He couldn't relate very well at all. They entered the outsides of the town where people milled about their businesses; a small market seemed to be in business; a wide patch was next to it. It had a fence post and a sign saying it would be turned into a community garden soon. Some people cheerily sung greets up to Tucker who smiled and waved back to a few of the stall owners. Tucker was a calmer fellow than most that had been sent on missions by their Gods only to be damned to a place when the mission didn't work the way they were promised it would. He must have started horse riding at the same age he started magic by the ease in which he road.

"What magic do you specialize in?" Tucker asked breaking the silence between the two men.

"Oh," Jordan laughed, not expecting the question; most people thought exorcists were against magic, "none really. Jack of all Trades, I guess. I've gotten to the second tier of Blood Magic, I know a few wizard spells and some witchery. How about yourself?"

"Blood Magic; fifth tier," Tucker boasted happily. His horse neighed to accent his accomplishment. "It costs so much to do the magic though. I've been doing it since I turned 14. Jeriah said he's been doing it since he turned 20, that's 10 years of it." Tucker lead them down a different road than the one with the church that dominantly was made of the wood cow-wrangler kind of buildings. "Honestly, I'm done with doing new spells, they cost too much blood. I have no idea how Jeriah managed to get to the eighth tier," Tucker said with a grimace.

"Still better than me," Jordan assured as they slowed down to deal with the fair traffic of horses and carriages.

Tucker led the way, past houses and barren shops, looking to have been abandoned and stripped to the bone. Most of the cow-wrangler building types weren't in use. It seemed a shame since years ago they must have been pretty cool looking. They reached an odd building; it possessed life, unlike the rest. Rock music and the sound of glasses clinking and mugs hitting wooden counter tops drifted from the open swinging doors; Jordan recognized it as a bar. Not his favorite attraction under _any_ circumstance; they always gave off a bad vibe.

"It's a little shabby, but you can probably guess why it's the only place still functional," Tucker reasoned, swinging off his horse casually and tying it to a post. Jordan followed suit, landing a little rougher on the mud. He eyed the bar dubiously.

"Sonja should be inside here somewhere, but I'm kind of avoiding her," Tucker admitted sheepishly as he found them a place at the bar. "We haven't been on the best of terms lately. You saw how Jeriah and Sonja behave earlier, right? Yeah, well it's always my job to say who's right." Tucker laughed dryly at that as Jordan took a seat beside him. "And I'd rather not have that job; so I just agree with both of them. This stress combined with Sonja and Jeriah always trying to kill each other practically puts a strain on my relationship with her. You wouldn't happen to be able to fix that, like any pointers?"

Raising his hands in defeat, Jordan shook his head, a smile playing on his lips."Haven't been in a relationship for a while, can't help you there," Jordan said. "Unless you count the witch." Tucker laughed at that, his laughter loud and merry.

"No girls lining up to thank you after you save the day?" Tucker asked and signaled the bartender over.

"Nope," Jordan looked down at the counter with a sad smile, "sort of lonely I guess."

Tucker placed an order for the breakfast special, "You want the same, Jordan?"

"Yes, please," Jordan went to fish money from his pocket, but Tucker stopped him.

"It's on me. You seem pretty chill, and who knows what shit you'll be facing," Tucker said.

This was the warmest welcome he's received in a while and it was much better than yesterday's welcome. The meal had been hearty and the company not so bad, giving Jordan a renewed vigor. With a horse available for quick travel and the day stretching out far before him, Jordan road to the church and prepared himself mentally for the day of research ahead.

At the church, Jordan found Declan sitting in a pew, murmuring words to the heavens, his eyes closed. He caught a few murmurs of "child" and "forgive me", but couldn't make anything from it.

"Priest?" Jordan asked, but Declan didn't stir, "Declan?" The ginger opened his eyes. Declan blinked owlishly before he seemed to realize where he was.

"Ah, Mr. Maron, you're back," Declan forced a smile and stared at the empty pews behind Jordan. "Today is supposed to be a popular day of worship for Mianite devotees, but alas," Declan banished those thoughts from his mind. "Peruse the books in the research room at your own free will; if you have any questions, ask away," Declan closed his eyes again and resumed his muttering.

Jordan left him in peace. He walked over to the room and opened the door. Today, it was empty. Pulling a chair at a table out, Jordan sat in it to think for a moment. Research was the best and worst part of any case; it could bring him the knowledge to defeat the evil presences or leave him in a stuffy room for hours on end, mulling over large tomes. Although there had been research done and left on the wall, Jordan ignored it in favor of answering questions for himself.

The history came first. Jordan found a newer book and slid it open, setting it down on the table and scanning the pages. And thus, the research began. Time passed and the stack of books built up on the table. Jordan's eyes would occasionally drift shut and he'd have to blink many times and rub them to continue reading.

The current book was written with such a bland syntax that Jordan wondered if the author was nothing, but a mere zombie, deciding to write its history on the world. His fingers flipped through pages and his eyes skimmed the words, not even comprehending the phrases anymore.

 _567, 569, 571._ Jordan flipped the pages, staring at the odd page numbers with a dull sense of reality. _621, 623, 625, 631, 633._ Jordan's brows furrowed in confusion and he flipped back to page 625. Upon turning the page, he found some pages had been seamlessly ripped out, with only the numbers to prove they'd ever existed.

A pit of excitement seeded itself in Jordan's stomach and he read the text before the ripped pages.

_We were at war. Intolerance at its best, how dare another God be equivalent to our own. It was the blood moon on-_

The pages were gone. It was all too tempting to stab the book. Instead, Jordan leaned back in the chair and wracked his brain for an answer.

There was the God Mianite and the Goddess Ianite. Had there been another God? He could not find a recollection of one. Had this town wiped a God from existence? A cold feeling replaced the earlier warmth of excitement and Jordan closed the book.

He sat still, allowing the chill of the new information to fade before glancing out the window to see the sun was already setting. Jordan stood and slipped out of the room, past the empty pews and out of the church.

His horse was gone; the lead cut roughly from the post as far as Jordan could see. The man sighed.

 _Such friendly people_ , he rolled his eyes. Hoping it was a prank, he cast a look around the side of the church, but found only the barren white wall of the church. Jordan sighed and leaned against the wall, chipping paint with his nail absentmindedly. The lavender underneath didn't fit very well with the white. Tired, he pulled away from the wall.

With only the faint beams of moon hitting the land to guide him, Jordan walked home. His stomach growled, and he spared a glance at the woods. A quick trip in there, and he could make himself a meal.

First, he'd go back to his cabin for his bow, quiver and a torch. Jordan hurried into his cabin, yanked the quiver full of arrows from their resting place and slung them on his back. A small burst of excitement filled him at the prospect of hunting. It had been at least a week since he and his bow had quality time. He pulled his bow from the wall and a torch from his bag. With a burst of fire from his hand, he lit the torch and stepped back out into the night.

Driven by hunger and a need for something to clear his mind, Jordan stepped foot into the woods.


	3. Red Butterflies and the Vision of Disaster

Quiver slung over his back and his bow notched with an arrow, Jordan scanned for possible food. A wild rabbit raced past him. Shifting the torch to rest on a tree branch, Jordan shot at the rabbit. The arrow pierced clean through its eye. Not bad since he'd only been shooting people recently. It would be enough to eat for tonight. Although if he had the chance later, he'd go out and practice his archery.

He was about to leave when he heard the grating sound of metal scraping metal. Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Jordan had only a second's hesitance to whip his sword out and block the dagger hurtling at his face.

It clanked against his sword and hit the ground. A few twigs snapped in the direction the knife had been thrown from. Jordan readied his sword and waited. Nothing came. The sounds of footsteps continued and Jordan took a step backwards. Clumsily, he tripped over a tree root. Jordan swore and pushed himself up.

The black cloaked figure surged forward, and grabbed the knife that he'd thrown. Jordan shielded his face from what he was sure was going to be an attack, but nothing happened. When he opened his eyes, the figure was gone. He took a few steps in the direction it had come from. A swift spell rocketed past his, drilling into the tree. At first, Jordan assumed he missed, but the groan of the tree creaking behind him informed him that wasn't the case. Jordan flung himself yards away as the tree collapsed, trampling the ground he formerly stood on.

Taking the hint, Jordan fled with the dead rabbit.

...

_Beginning of the 29th moon, 22nd Year. Two days before the blood moon._

_A lost God, the man in the woods, the approaching blood moon_ _—Ianite, this seems far, far above my usual mission. A God...lost? Ianite, you would know, wouldn't you? I've seen the destruction you can cause when angered; what could a dead god stir up?_

_Sincerely, Jordan C. Maron, the Exorcist of Evil._

....

When dawn arose, gracing the Village of Dagrun for the first time in many months with sun, its citizens were overjoyed. Jordan left the cabin to find the sun shining bright, kissing the inhabitants with warmth. He shed his jacket and tossed it back in the cabin, his blue eyes squinting against the sun. He pulled his sunglasses free from where they were clipped to his shirt and slid them on. It brought instant relief to his eyes.

Maybe today, he could ask if anyone knew of another God. Was there a possibility, by chance, someone would come and give him another horse? The road remained barren and Jordan started walking.

On his way to the town, a young girl ran past him, chasing a butterfly. Jordan's eyes followed her graceful leaps and cat-like attempts to paw the flying insect out of the air. With a sudden leap, she succeeded and stared down at the butterfly in horror.

"Sonja, Sonja," the girl cried and the female warrior Jordan recalled as being a tad bit moody emerged, worriedly scanning for threats to the young girl. She glanced at Jordan, but then to the butterfly in the young girl's hands.

"It's red, it's red," she exclaimed, "I've never seen red butterflies. Is it a good sign?" the girl asked, rocking on her heels.

Sonja let out a gasp and plucked the butterfly out of the girl's hand and promptly crushed if under her boot.

"Go wash your hands in the kitchen now, quickly; these butterflies are poisonous," Sonja shooed off the girl and scanned for more butterflies. The look on Sonja's face could best be described as haunted, as if a bad nightmare had become reality.

"Sonja?" Jordan asked and her eyes darted to him. "Is everything alright?"

"No, no everything is not _alright_. Do you see the sky, Jordan, what, pray tell, is different?" Sonja spat, running a hand through her messy brown hair.

"The sun is out?" Jordan wasn't sure where she was going.

"Yes, and do you find it odd, after years of overcast skies, the sun is out?" Sonja questioned.

"I suppose," Jordan said hesitantly and the female warrior sighed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Why do I even bother? Everyone here is downright-"

"Wait, Sonja," he rushed over to the flustered woman, "don't he mad. I'm sorry, I believe you. There's a problem, I can see it now," Jordan said, the thoughts clicking together.

"Oh, really now? You see it?" Sonja crossed her arms and her dark green eyes bore holes into Jordan. "In Mianite's holy name, tell me, what is the problem?"

It had slowly clicked, and Jordan recalled the little things he's seen and the over all terrain of the town.

"The plants and foundation of the town have been adapted for the overcast weather, which means the sun and blistering heat could easily cause a drought or a fire if the levels of oxygen and hear match up," Jordan explained and Sonja raised in an eyebrow in surprise, but nodded.

"Sicknesses too, but I guess that's not the first thing you would think of," Sonja relented and headed to her house. After a moment's thought she beckoned Jordan to follow. "The cooler temperatures warded off the red-tinged butterflies that first flooded the area ten years ago as a result of a dark magic. The dark magic brought other issues, like an increase in monsters, but we've been able to combat that easily. It's hard to fight something that destroys you from the inside," Sonja let him inside before closing the door behind him. "Jordan, would you believe me if I told you, the person in the woods isn't the one we should be worried about."

He looked into her eyes, desperation reflecting from the depths of her soul and a sickness that comes from pain to the heart and mind. Jordan shook his head, he couldn't believe her, not in this state.

"I'm sorry, but I don't see where you're going with this," Jordan said and Sonja closed her eyes.

"You do, you think I'm paranoid. You think I've gone mad from stress," Sonja was nearly crying. "Maybe, I have, but maybe Mot had a point Jordan. The last thing he says to me before he disappeared was, 'You're a fool for staying here.' And he's right, I should have left, Tucker would gladly go with me. Maybe we wouldn't be neck deep in whatever shit-storm this town put itself in. People don't just curse a random town, someone or something in this town wronged them," Sonja cried out and she hid her face. "Leave Jordan, leave this town and forget everything about it. No one can save these people."

Calmly, Jordan took a step back, but stopped and rubbed the back of his neck in thought. Should he ask her about the missing God? _Someone or something wronged them._

"I'm not leaving, and I will save this town. Sonja, do you know anything about a missing God?" Jordan asked and Sonja stared at him outraged through tears. He noticed faintly out of the corner of his eye, the small child was watching him.

"Missing God? Do you think this is a joke, Jordan? Fine, don't leave, but don't come back here," she had her knife in her hand and Jordan took that as his warning to exit or else.

He walked out of the house and let out a heavy sigh of resignation. Tucker was not going to be his friend now after he just made the dude's girlfriend break down. This village was eating away at Jordan's own mental walls and the man groaned.

"Wait, Jor'an, Jor'an," the little girl from earlier rushed over, a paper clasped in her hand. Jordan turned to face her, and she thrust the drawing in his face. He had just enough time to catch it, before she was racing back towards Sonja's hut.

On the page, was a childish drawing of a red skinned man wearing black cloth and a big grin with lots of sharp teeth. Scrawled messily above the crude picture was "Uncle Dia."

Dia? This surely wasn't the missing God? Jordan stared at the picture and he tentatively said the name again in his mind. Dia. Mianite, Ianite and Dia, the three gods. Mianite, Ianite and...

"Dianite?" Jordan wondered aloud and he felt a chill envelop him and the drawing fluttered from his hand. A vision of the town on fire, red butterflies flirting with villagers and screams of panic. It left his mind and the image was replaced by his regular sight, staring at the normal village, untouched by devastation.

"Who were you, Dianite?" Jordan questioned, but the chill had gone. All that remained was the sun beating fiercely upon the nape of his neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Jordan debated mentally between the urge to check the town first or head into the woods and try and find the figure. Was he Dianite? Was he a devotee of Dianite? He had the missing God's name, he had a lead. If they're truly the terror being inflicted upon the town, then confronting them would be the best option, right?

The town... He needed to protect the village, or his mission would be a failure. He should find Tucker or Jeriah and warn them, at the very least. Casting a glance towards the woods, Jordan raced against time. It could happen any moment, the very catastrophe could be upon him. He reached the dirt roads and ran past the countless citizens happily enjoying the sun. Children ignored him as he avoided their games and antics, teens jeered at him to run faster, and the other villagers could care less for what his purpose was. He ran to the church where the priest himself stood outside, basking in the light.

"Declan, Declan, an omen," Jordan cried, "this sun will bring fire and sickness."

The priest slowly opened his eyes, and Jordan saw his youth and vigor had been restored to him by the sun, his eyes sparkled with new found hope. At Jordan's words, however, he scowled.

"What in Mianite's name are you speaking of? This is a good sign," Declan stated, his hands slipping to his hips.

Shaking his head, Jordan gestured at the woods. "The red butterflies, they carry a disease and the sun, it does not fare well with these oak houses. It will burn them before the day has set. This is the act of Dianite or one of his followers."

"Dianite!" Quicker than a snake, Declan had grabbed Jordan by the collar and hauled him closer to glare down at the man. "Speak nothing of the devil we have vanquished for it was a hard fought battle with many lives lost. As for your omen," he spat the word, "you may be an Ianite worshipper, but in Mianite territory, the only omens that are given, are given to the Priest." He released Jordan's collar. "If you truly suggest the creatures in the woods are the Devil's devotees, slay them out at once. Now be gone, or you'll be out of my good graces."

Stumbling back, Jordan soon found the same edge Sonja had faced. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms, controlling the urge to lash out.

"Priest, sir Declan, could you please, at least, send Tucker or Jeriah to guard the side facing the woods to the West," Jordan pleaded.

"I have given them a day off, the sun is a symbol of good," Declan stayed rooted in his beliefs.

"But, Priest," Jordan argued.

"Do you dare defy the voice of Mianite, Jordan Maron?" Declan warned, his eyes glowing the deathly white, the air crackling around him like lightning in the midst of a storm.

"No, sir," Jordan said hastily bowing his head.

"Stay in the town, today, Maron. I have taken back my earlier guarantee to let you investigate on your own. If you wish to stir up trouble, than do so on a day, where the sky is gloomy and morbid," Declan ordered.

"Yes, sir," Jordan obliged. He turned away from the priest and felt the air tingle beside him. A red butterfly landed on his shoulder. Too downtrodden to care, he sighed and stared at the butterfly grimly. "Oh go ahead and infect me, maybe that will prove my point." In response, the butterfly harmlessly fluttered away, it's red wings glittering in the sky.

Dejected, he kicked his feet against the dirt roads, staring at his dirt covered boots. Jordan shoved his hands in his hands pockets and headed to the bar. It was nearly empty except for him and another patron with a dark red cloak. His brown hair hung across his face, a messy fringe drifting over his eyes. The man kept drinking his liquor.

Jordan took a seat on a stool a few from the cloaked man. He wondered faintly, if this could be the man in the woods, but he was much too tall and lanky. Signaling the bartender with a wave of his hand, Jordan ordered a steak for lunch. The old bartender nodded and hobbled into the kitchen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jordan noticed the man had finished his drink and pulled a thick book from his cloak. Subtly, his hand pointed in Jordan's direction.

Wizarding magic. Jordan closed his eyes and cast his own hand up, one hand on the book in his other pocket as he conjured a shield that deflected a memory altering mist. The wizard dodged the blow back of his spell and stared at Jordan in shock, allowing the man enough time to unsheathe his sword and knock aside the wizard's book.

"Mercy," the man muttered weakly. "Please, I'm sorry."

"Who are you?" Jordan questioned, pushing the tip of his sword to the man's throat. He took a step forward and put his foot on the magic book.

"I'm James Wagglington, neutral Wizard. Please, I can't have anyone knowing I'm here, I just came in here for a drink. I promise," the younger man assured Jordan.

The exorcist didn't budge, "You came from the woods?"

The man swallowed and looked to the side, he smiled weakly, "Woods? Huh? I'm a wizard I live in the sky."

Jordan pushed the sword against the man's neck, nicking him. James staggered back, falling against a table.

"Truth, now," Jordan growled, stepping forward, keeping the tip of the blade hovering above his neck.

"I'm not the one who has been messing with the town. Please, I've lived there before it started. I...I can't live in a village, because I'm Godless," James pleaded, folding his hands together.

Considering the man for a second: his watery brown eyes, the raw fear in his voice. "I believe you," Jordan lowered his sword and the wizard collapsed in relief.

"Thank you, good sir. I will be going, I'll be using an invisibility potion, no one can know I'm here," James was hurriedly picking himself up and grabbed his magic book and held it to his chest.

"Wait," Jordan stopped him, his hand held out to keep him from leaving. "Do you know anything about the man in the black cloak in the woods or Dianite? Do you know whose causing the terror?"

James shook his head and pushed past Jordan.

"I know the man, I know the God you speak of; I was here during the war, but I cannot tell you anymore," James said and pulled the potion from his belt and chugged it. Jordan watched him disappear with fascination and stepped back into the bar, stricken with a sudden hope for the answer. Maybe staying in the town wasn't such a bad idea.

Picking the fallen table back up, Jordan returned to his seat at the bar just as the bartender slipped back out of the kitchen, a smile on his face.

"Here's your steak, good man, enjoy the meal," Jordan nodded in thanks and went to take a bite when he stopped and glanced back at bartender.

"Funny," Jordan said in thought, hand slipping to his sword, "I don't remember the bartender being a younger man."

"Uh," the man laughed nervously and slipped his hands behind his back. "You must be mistaken, I am the same person."

Jordan rose, his sword drawn in a defensive manner. He stared determinedly at the brown-haired man in front of him wearing a fake moustache.

"Really?" Jordan asked.

"Sir, you seem a little disturbed; you need to cool down," the man said and whipped a glass flask at Jordan that shattered at his feet.

It took one second for Jordan to comprehend it was a splash potion. It took five seconds to realize it was a knockout-potion. Jordan knocked over his stool as he swayed, staggering back. The exorcist stared at the man as he shrugged. "Nothing against you mate," the fake-bartender said, sliding over the bar and pulling off the moustache and pulling out a mask. "Business, boy."

Fighting the potion, Jordan reached for the man, but it was too late. It only took thirty seconds for Jordan's eyes to roll back in his head and he crumpled to the ground.

...

He awoke to the a killer headache and someone shaking his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, the priest knelt over him gravely worried and the three warriors stood off to the side, eyes downcast. The floor around him glowed faintly with a small circle of protection. The rest of the bar, was singed black. Parts had burned away, leaving a bony wooden structure.

"You were right," Declan said as Jordan sat up coughing weakly.

"I'm sorry this happened," Jordan said, rubbing a hand over his eyes and he felt a glass of water being pressed against him; it was offered by Sonja.

"Do not apologize, I was blinded earlier by my own arrogance and selfish desire," Declan admitted. "I am sorry, for doubting you."

Jordan took a greedy gulp of the water and stared at the glowing symbols of magic, wizardry. He wondered if the James fellow has been involved in the chaos, but if he hadn't been, Jordan was grateful he placed the spell around him. Who had been the...the...Jordan swore. No memory of his could reconstruct the image of the...thing that had done this to him, to the village.

"Did the omen come true?" Jordan asked.

"Yeah," Tucker piped in, "half the village burned down, those aggressive-ass butterflies have been multiplying like rabbits and indirectly infecting a few of our villagers. I got a glimpse of a guy in a black hood casting fire spells, but the moment I got close, he was gone." Tucker looked at his sword and held if up to his face, examining it for nicks. Lowering it, he stared at Jordan hopefully. "Any chance whoever sent you the omen, is planning on sending you the answer?"

"When did you get the omen?" Jeriah questioned. Jordan fought through the fog surrounding his memories to find the event.

"When I found out about Dianite," Jordan recalled and Declan paled.

The priest shot up, his eyes bulging. "Do you know what this means? The slain devil, Dianite has returned. He sent the omen, he has been blocking this village from our God," Declan's voice shook with fury. "We will find whatever connection he has and slay it!"

"Return of the fallen," Sonja whispered, "Mot knew."

Jordan pulled himself up, and stood, watching their changing expressions. Sonja looked mystified and she glanced at Tucker. He looked sheepishly up at her and whispered something to her. She smiled and hugged him.

"Declan, I have an idea," Jeriah said and confronted the priest, "I think, we should require church services again. Anyone unfaithful to Mianite, should not be allowed to live in the village. We should not let them leave, but rather," his eyes glanced to Sonja, "hang them. In order to reunite the village and the stand as a strong force against these threats."

"Wait a minute," Jordan held up his hands, "Uh, I'm not-"

"You would still attend, wouldn't you Jordan?" Declan asked, cutting the Ianite Devotee off.

This was a chance for him to be on the better side of Declan.

"Yes, of course," Jordan assured.

"Then no worries," Jeriah said simply.

Sonja shook her head, and crossed her arms, but didn't comment. Tucker rubbed her back and pulled her closer.

"This village is a pure Mianite realm, and there shall be no other God," Declan declared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ill finish adding the other chapters later

**Author's Note:**

> All original author notes attached to the work are being left off for your viewing pleasure, because I used to jabber a lot. Please request if you want the other works moved, otherwise, nah. Only moving this one and zombie AU. 
> 
> Originally written: January 21st, 2015.


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